Avarice

1.

"Ana! We're hungry! Anaaa!!!"

Loud noises can be heard from the dining room of the Winters Orphanage as the seven or so children that sit around the table bang their empty glasses and plates against the rigid surface in what could be constructed as a small rebellion, impatient and hungry.

"Ana!! Ana!! Ana!!" They shout in a sing-song voice.

"I'm here!"

Seventeen year old Ana Winters calls out as she walks out of the kitchen, utterly frazzled, balancing a large jug of milk in one hand and a tray with several bowls of pudding in another.

"Here you go, you little pack of demons." She mutters, placing the food on the table.

The children let out happy cheers, greedy fingers reaching out as they attack the food, all except one, a five year old boy whose face is scrunched up with dislike at the sight of the offered food, hands crossed over his chest, huffing and puffing loudly as he refuses to touch his plate.

Ana feels a smile tugging at her lips, hazel eyes shining with fond exasperations as she leans over and ruffles the boy's hair. "What's wrong Noah?" she questions. "Why aren't you eating?"

"You promised that we would get sandwiches this week," the boy named Noah whines, staring at Ana accusingly.

Ana winces internally at the reminder of the promise she had made to the little boy. A promise that had completely slipped her mind when she found herself surrounded by her piling schoolwork, her responsibilities from her part time job and helping out with the younger kids at the house now that one of their three caretakers was on an extended leave.

"I don't want to eat the stinky rice pudding again," Noah huffs. "I hate it."

Ana bites her lip, preparing herself for the tantrum the little boy is bound to throw, before an idea forms in her head and she leans down, whispering conspiratorially in his ear, "If you eat your breakfast now without any complaints then later on I'll make a special batch of cookies and let you have one, okay?"

Noah's eyes light up and she smiles, mentally patting herself for her quick thinking. She thinks the damage is undone, only for the boy to punch his fist in the air and exclaim loudly, "Ana's special cookies?! Yayy."

At once six pair of eyes snap towards her, before the children begin to speak all at once, voices clamouring over one another to be heard.

"Did he say cookie?"

"I want one too."

"We all want cookies!"

"Stinky Noah always causing trouble but at least we get a cookie now."

"Me too! Me too!"

"Ana's cookies are the bestest."

Ana looks between the kids, smiling exasperatedly. "Maybe if you all behave then I will —"

"Silence!"

A sharp rebuke cuts Ana off mid sentence, the noise in the dining room dying with the arrival of a woman who stands at the doorway, hands on her hips and sternness in her eyes.

The woman is in her early 50s, but looks much older, weary, her head full of grey hair with permanent frown lines etched upon her forehead. She is short, shorter than Ana even, who stands at 5'4", but her small size doesn't fool anyone. Her no- nonsense attitude and grim face makes Ms. Martha Joseph, the most feared of the three matrons that run the Winters Orphanage.

"How many times—" she begins to speak, wagging one index finger towards them, displeasure evident, "—do I need to remind everyone that there is to be no talking on the dining table?"